Enter The Mystery Woman
by Rhiannon Faylinn
Summary: An SH22 fic. A young woman who is more than what she seems finds herself in New London. Holmes determines to find out who she is and gets more than he bargained for. On hold indefinately.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century. I really wish I did, but I don't. I also own nothing affiliated with the show. I do however own Denae Hartman. I would be very upset if someone were to steal her or 'borrow her without consent.' Keep that in mind, as my temper can get very nasty.  
  
A/N: Now, I know that there are a lot of H/L shippers out there. Frankly, I can't picture them together forever. It is my belief that Holmes needs someone who can keep him on his toes at all times. So for those of you who are comepletly opposed to anything not H/L, don't bother reading this fic. You have been warned, so I don't want to read any complaints about it.  
  
words written between * * are italics, ----- indicates change of scene _____________________________________________________________________  
  
It was a peaceful night in New London on the night of April 13, 2105. Very peaceful. There was not a single cloud in the sky. Unfortunately, the stars weren't visible because of the lights of the city. But if one happened to be on the roof of one of the tallest buildings, one would have seen how beautiful the night sky was.  
  
It was unusual for a peace like this to settle on the streets of New London. The streets were usually crawling with unsavory characters. Tonight it seemed as if they had all gone into the Underground.  
  
Suddenly the peace was shattered by the sudden formation of strange looking clouds just above a lonely street in one of the older parts of the city. Stranger still, the clouds were forming out of nowhere about 8 feet above the ground. Thin bolts of lightning began shooting out of them.  
  
Then, the entire sky filled with dark clouds. Thunder began to rumble. Then, a single, fantastic flash of lightning seemed to fill the entire sky. Thunder boomed out of the clouds.  
  
Something dropped out of the low clouds as the lightning flashed. There was a grunt of pain and shock as the falling body landed on the street, facedown. Several other objects landed on the street near the body.  
  
Within moments, the sky was clear once again. The peace that had been returned. The storm retreated, leaving behind a nearly unconscious woman alone in the street.  
  
After a moment, air rushed into her lungs. The fall had knocked the wind out of her. She dragged in a few deep, agonizing breaths. Carefully, she tested her limbs. Nothing was broken, so she flattened her palms against the asphalt and pushed. Her body, from the torso up, rose from the ground. She glanced around. She was alone.  
  
Slowly, she climbed to her feet. Her body ached all over. Especially the front of her. She had landed facedown, after all. She groaned softly as she managed to stand. She staggered a moment as a sudden dizziness overtook her. Her right hand went to her head as she fought it. Another groan escaped her lips. "Oh, my head," she said in a voice that was decidedly American.  
  
After a moment, she recovered. She looked around once more. She saw her backpack, jacket and one of her notebooks lying in the street. In her hand was still clutched the stone pendant an old man on the street had given to her earlier that day.  
  
She dusted herself off. She then began to take in her surroundings. She turned slowly in a circle. Confusion was evident on her face.  
  
"Where am I?" she wondered aloud.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------  
A moment ago, Sherlock Holmes had been startled out of his music playing by the sudden, bright flash of light. It had been almost blinding.  
  
Holmes's compudroid, Watson, had also been quite surprised.  
  
"I say, Watson. Whatever do you think that was?" asked Holmes.  
  
"I haven't the faintest idea Holmes. The skies are perfectly clear tonight. There should be no cause for lightning."  
  
"Hmm," said Holmes thoughtfully. "Ah, well. Be a good man and monitor the news broadcasts in the morning, would you?"  
  
"Of course Holmes."  
  
Holmes nodded and went back to playing his electronic music instrument. He did, however, note the time; 11:07pm.  
  
That lightning was so strange. He shrugged and kept playing. All returned to normal at 221B Baker Street.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In another part of New London, an amazingly ugly Frenchman looked a bit frightened.  
  
"What could it have been, Master?" he asked.  
  
"I don't know," responded the tall, dark man in Victorian style clothing. He stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "Hmm."  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Two blocks from where she had landed, the young woman continued down the street. She went slowly. She gaped at her surroundings. She had never seen anything like this place. Well, in futuristic animations, maybe, but never in real life.  
  
Her eggplant colored backpack was slung over her shoulders. She was also wearing the jacket that had landed near her. The notebook and pendant had been placed in the backpack.  
  
There was a sudden roar and a flying car nearly ran her down. She leapt out of the way partly by instinct and partly by panic. The force from the speed of the car almost knocked her down.  
  
She could do nothing but stare in shock at the rapidly retreating vehicle. It soon disappeared.  
  
After a silence, her face twisted in frustration.  
  
"What the hell *is* this place!?" she cried.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Holmes rose at about half past eight. This was unusual for him. As a rule, he was a late riser. Watson prepared breakfast for him as he monitored the news, as Holmes had asked.  
  
"Good morning Holmes. You're up early."  
  
"Yes. I found myself wondering about that storm last night. Has there been any word?"  
  
"Only people who are just as confused as we are. No one seems to know what could have caused it," said Watson.  
  
No sooner had Holmes finished his breakfast that his vidphone began to ring. As Watson answered it, a brunette woman appeared on the screen.  
  
"Holmes," she said.  
  
"Ah, good morning Lestrade. Need help on another case, do you?"  
  
"Gee, how perceptive of you Holmes," said Lestrade sarcastically. "Someone broke into GenUTech and stole some equipment. But there's nothing on the cameras and the security system is pretty tight. We can't figure out how about 700 kilos of equipment could disappear without anyone seeing anything."  
  
"Hmm. You scanned for DNA traces?"  
  
"That's the thing. The only DNA we found belongs to the people who work there. We're questioning the last few now, but about half of them have iron clad alibis. That leaves about 13 suspects and no leads except that the correct codes were entered into the security system to gain access."  
  
"Really? I thought you said the building was broken into."  
  
"That's what it looks like. We found some signs of force on one of the windows. The thing is, the marks are on the inside."  
  
"I see."  
  
"I'm going to need you down at the crime scene Holmes. I've got a few more interviews and some paperwork to finish, but it shouldn't take more than an hour or so."  
  
"Very well, Lestrade. I shall meet you there at 10:00 sharp."  
  
The screen went blank.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --  
  
There was a light fog out. The skies were dull and gray. It was nearly nine, but the young woman had no way of knowing that. Her watch registered the same time it had when she last remembered being home.  
  
Amazingly, she was completely unscathed after a night alone on the New London streets. All the possessions she had with her were still intact, with the exception of a few cracks in a CD case caused by the fall. Her books had taken the brunt of it and so everything remotely fragile had remained intact.  
  
She pulled her jacket tightly around her as she walked, but didn't bother to button it up. Whether she did this from the cold or fear of this strange place, who could say?  
  
There were some people strolling on the street, but not that many. She passed several of them. Several more of those insane flying cars had gone by. When she looked up, she could see many, many more of them.  
  
Finally, she stopped a man in a long brown coat.  
  
"Pardon me," she said politely," but could you tell me where I am?"  
  
"Why," he said smiling, "you're on Baker Street, my dear."  
  
She started to open her mouth, but he was gone before she could say anything. Slightly frustrated, she stopped another man.  
  
"Excuse me, can you please tell me where I am, sir?"  
  
"On Baker Street," he replied. He then started to walk away, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.  
  
"I know that. What city is this?"  
  
He was rather taken aback by this question.  
  
"Why, New London, of course." He began to walk away. "Beastly Americans. They grow stupider by the year," he mumbled.  
  
"I heard that, you snob!" called the girl, who was not at all amused. She turned and continued down the street. "New London," she muttered. "That can't be."  
  
She stopped to lean against a booth of some kind. She didn't know what it was, and she didn't care. She was tired, dirty and confused. Not to mention a bit bruised.  
  
Across the street, Holmes crossed the sitting room to the large bay windows. Looking out, he took in the way the street looked today. The street was never what you could call busy in this day and age. In his day, the street had always been bustling with people. Gray skies and fog were very common in New London. They were not important.  
  
He did, however, take notice of the young woman leaning against the public vidphone booth. She was turned so that he could only see her profile. However, he could still see that she had a look of shock on her face. And that she was fairly pretty. Her skin looked pale.  
  
Watson came to stand next to him.  
  
"What are you looking at Holmes?"  
  
"This young woman."  
  
"Well, what of her?"  
  
"She is obviously lost."  
  
"How did you deduce that?"  
  
"Eyes and brains, my good man. The look on her face is one of bewilderment and thoughtfulness, as if she is trying to register her current situation. I've never seen her before on this street, so it is unlikely that she is familiar with it."  
  
"Well, when you put it that way..."  
  
"Another thing, Watson. Look at the way she is dressed," he said, taking in her dark blue jeans and black jacket. She had let the jacket fall open to reveal a baby blue shirt and a navy blue button up shirt. On her feet were a pair of hiking boots. "Her clothes are not at all what New London woman have been wearing.  
  
On the street, the woman ran her fingers through her long, dark hair, which hung loose. Her fingers caught on a tangle and she lifted her hand out. The shock still hadn't fully set in.  
  
She got the feeling that she was being watched. She glanced briefly around with her eyes only. Her eyes darted across the street. Then she turned her head and looked up at the window. There were two people staring at her. She couldn't see one of them very well, but the other, who was closer to the window, was frighteningly familiar.  
  
She quickly bent to pick up her backpack, which she'd taken off, and walked away while putting it on.  
  
"Apparently, she doesn't like to be stared at, either," commented Watson.  
  
They both turned away from the window.  
  
The woman came to the corner of the street. There was a sign there. "Baker Street." She glanced up at it. Her eyes widened. She turned back to the building the two men had been watching her from. Above the entrance, the numbers clearly read 221.  
  
New London? Baker Street? 221, the second floor, which was probably apartment B?  
  
*New London?! Baker Street?! 221B?!*  
  
She backed away from the building, eyes wide, shaking her head. "No", she said quietly. "That's *not* possible. *This* is *not possible*!"  
  
She heard a car horn. She leapt forward and turned in mid air just in time to see another of those crazy cars zoom by. The driver was shaking his fist at her. She hadn't realized she'd backed into the street.  
  
People were staring at her. She didn't like that. She quickly crossed the street and kept walking.  
  
Now she was more dazed than ever. She walked down the street. The streets were getting more crowded. She didn't even register the few people that she accidentally bumped into, or their glares. After a time, she bumped into someone else.  
  
"Hey," he said angrily, " watch where you're going, miss!"  
  
"Sorry," she mumbled. His voice had seemed distant.  
  
He wasn't about to back down. He continued to scold her loudly. People slowed as they passed and stared. A circle was forming.  
  
He was publicly embarrassing her. For the first time, she looked at him. He was wearing a uniform and there was a badge hanging around his neck. A Yardie.  
  
She realized how many people were listening or watching. Her cheeks grew hot with anger and embarrassment.  
  
He eyed her. "You're American, aren't you? I could tell fro your accent. When are you beastly Americans going to learn to use your brains?" he sneered.  
  
Her fists clenched at her sides. The crowd chuckled. Her eyes narrowed.  
  
Apparently satisfied, the Yardie began to leave. "Beastly American," he said again.  
  
That did it.  
  
"Better to be a 'beastly American' than an inbred idiot!" she said loudly.  
  
There was a collective gasp from the crowd and the Yardie whirled around. There was a surprised look on his face.  
  
"You- you- you-" he stammered.  
  
"You- you- you," she mocked. "You're English, learn to speak the language."  
  
His face grew hot with rage as the crowd tried not to laugh. She knew that this was her cue to leave, but she needed to vent her frustration. And now she had a target.  
  
"How dare you?!"  
  
"Easy. I'm not a coward like you who has to pick on a girl!"  
  
The crowd could not hide its surprise or amusement.  
  
"That's it!" He reached for her arm. "I'm taking you in."  
  
"For what?" She moved out of range. "Is it a crime here to embarrass a moron? 'Cause unless it is, you don't have a charge."  
  
"She's got you there, constable," came a woman's voice from the crowd.  
  
She turned and left. A smile threatened to break through as a few bystanders applauded. She could hear the Yardie yelling at them to shut up. A grin broke through. That felt rather good.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---  
  
"Hmm," said Holmes as he examined the marks on the window. Just as Lestrade had said, they were on the inside. "Well, this was almost certainly an inside job."  
  
"What do you mean *almost*?" asked Lestrade. "It couldn't have been anything else."  
  
"I'll admit that it is improbable that it was anything else, but not impossible our thief, or thieves, was very careful not to leave any clues. And they did a good job. This indicates a keen intellect." He turned to Watson and Lestrade. "Exactly what kind of equipment was stolen?"  
  
"Pretty basic stuff," said Lestrade. "You'll find it in any genetics lab."  
  
"Lestrade, I suggest that you scan the entire building for DNA traces. Any DNA that does not belong here is suspect. Hmm," he said again. He pulled out his magnifying glass and examined the marks on the window more closely. "Are there any droids in the building?"  
  
"Yes. Two of them."  
  
"For heavy lifting and odd jobs, I suppose."  
  
There was a silence.  
  
"Are you saying the *droids* robbed the place?"  
  
"Watson," said Holmes, "would you be so kind as to place your hands against these marks? Palms out, please."  
  
Watson did as instructed. Sure enough, the marks matched his fingers perfectly.  
  
"I say, Holmes. It appears you're right. A droid did have something to do with it."  
  
Hey," called Lestrade to the nearest GenUTech employee, who happened to be a guard. "Where are the compudroids kept?"  
  
"Right this way," replied the tall, thin guard. He motioned for them to follow. "They're programmed to clean up the lab and then come here to recharge," he explained as he opened the door to the room where they were kept. He gasped when he looked inside. There was only one compudroid in the room.  
  
"Hey, where's the other one?" asked Lestrade.  
  
"I don't know. They should both be here."  
  
Watson linked himself to the remaining droid and searched its database. This didn't take long.  
  
"The entire memory has been erased," he announced.  
  
"As I suspected," said Holmes.  
  
"And the missing droid?" asked Watson.  
  
"Taken, no doubt, to continue moving the stolen equipment and force open the window to throw us off the scent."  
  
"But, Holmes, Who would be in need of such equipment?"  
  
"Martin Fenwick!" declared Lestrade. "He's a geneticist."  
  
"Possibly," said Holmes. "But what use would it be Moriarty?"  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---  
  
It had been over an hour since the young woman's run in with that Yardie. She was now in a much less crowded part of town. The buildings were old and much more run down than any of the buildings she had seen on Baker Street.  
  
The shock of realizing where she was had yet to go away. New London, of all places. She realized why the man in the window had looked so familiar. She hadn't recognized him at first because she was used to seeing only 2D images of him. This was him in real life.  
  
"Well, well. What have we got here?"  
  
She turned to see a tough looking guy approaching. She tried to keep walking, but another thug stepped out of the alley just ahead. Before she knew it, she was backed against a building.  
  
"Cute one, isn't she?" asked the first thug. The tall, fat one.  
  
"She sure is," replied the second thug, who was short and thin. He let his eyes rove over her and she thought she was going to be sick. It was obvious what he was thinking.  
  
"Back off," she said, trying to sound tough, even though she was scared out of her mind.  
  
"Hand over the bag!" ordered the first thug.  
  
"Drop dead!" she responded.  
  
Both thugs looked surprised. Then they scowled.  
  
"Now!" barked the fat one. "Give it to me!"  
  
So she gave it to him. As her foot connected with his shin, he howled in pain. Her right fist connected with the other's cheek and he reeled back.  
  
She tried to dart between them and escape, but the first thug recovered and grabbed her.  
  
"Let go!" she shouted as he lifted her clear off of her feet.  
  
The thin one moved toward her and she used the fat one as leverage to kick him, hard, in the face.  
  
She'd kicked hard enough that the one holding her had stumbled back into the wall. His grip loosened and she slipped down out of it. She stepped to the side, grabbed his arm and pushed him forward. At the same time, she brought her knee up. It rammed into his gut and he doubled over as she started to run.  
  
She only got about 20 feet when a hovercraft pulled up. It had sirens on top. A Yardie.  
  
"Officer," she called. She felt relief wash over her. Until the Yardie stepped out. She stopped dead as she realized it was the same Yardie she'd run into earlier. "Oh," she said shakily.  
  
"What seems to be the trouble?" asked the constable.  
  
"Constable, this madwoman attacked us!" declared the thin one as he climbed to his feet. He was holding a hand over his left eye.  
  
"*What?! They* attacked *me*. I was just defending myself."  
  
The constable looked from her to them, and back. They were pretty badly beaten. There was hardly a mark on her.  
  
A wicked smile appeared on his face. He took her by the arm. "You're coming with me."  
  
"Me? What did I do?"  
  
"Attacking two citizens."  
  
She continued to protest, but he put her in the cruiser anyway. At that point, she realized that nothing she could say would change his mind about who was at fault. "You've just been looking for an excuse, haven't you constable." It wasn't really a question.  
  
"Darn right," he replied as they lifted off. They zoomed toward New Scotland Yard. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own Denae Hartman, the plot, and my own warped imagination.  
  
Words between * * are italics, ------ indicates either change of scene or point of view the story is happening from. ________________________________________________________________________  
  
The DNA scan had turned up zilch.  
  
"Zed! Not one clue pointing at the thief," said Lestrade, pounding her fist on a table in frustration.  
  
Holmes and Watson stood nearby. Holmes, as usual, was lost in thought.  
  
"What do you mean her DNA is unknown!?" bellowed a voice.  
  
All three turned their heads in the direction of Chief Inspector Greyson's office.  
  
"Everyone's DNA is on file! It's a law!" he boomed.  
  
The three approached the office and ran into a constable leaving the office.  
  
"What's going on?" asked Lestrade.  
  
"A woman was arrested this morning. We've scanned her DNA twice, but it keeps coming back unknown," he explained. "We have no idea who she is."  
  
"But that's impossible," said Watson.  
  
"Interesting," said Holmes. "Where is the lady?"  
  
"Being questioned."  
  
Lestrade, being curious as she was, followed the constable. Holmes and Watson did the same. They reached a two-way mirror and saw another constable interrogating a young woman.  
  
She was sitting at a table. She was angled so that 3/4 of her body was facing them.  
  
Holmes was surprised as he recognized the girl from outside his flat this morning. He hadn't gotten a very good look at her face earlier. Now he could see her features clearly.  
  
She was quite beautiful. Her skin was light, but not as pale as it had been this morning. Her hair was dark brown, almost black, and hung well past the middle of her back. Her eyes were almond shaped and deep brown. And, right now, they were dark with anger.  
  
"Just tell us who you are!" demanded the constable.  
  
"I already have, more than once, you imbecile!" she shouted back.  
  
"I say, Holmes. I do believe that is the same young lady from this morning."  
  
"One and the same, Watson."  
  
"Huh? You know her?" asked Lestrade.  
  
"No. I simply observed the young lady outside my flat this morning. She seemed lost."  
  
"Look," said the girl, standing up. She approached the constable. "We both know that I did nothing wrong. So let me go."  
  
"Not a chance, sweetheart," he sneered.  
  
A look of irritation crossed her face. For a moment, she just glared at him. Then, to the astonishment of the onlookers, she kicked him on the right shin with her right foot. He cried out and grabbed his shin. He began hopping up and down on his other foot. She stormed back to her chair and plopped down. She crossed her arms and just sat there with a frustrated look on her face.  
  
Lestrade covered her mouth with her left hand in an attempt to stifle her barely controlled laughter. A few giggles managed to escape anyway as she watched the man jump up and down, yelping in pain.  
  
"Goodness, gracious!" said Watson in disbelief.  
  
"I must say, I am impressed," said Holmes, chuckling lightly. "Not many people would have the nerve to do that."  
  
Just then , Greyson entered the interrogation room.  
  
"What happened?" he asked.  
  
"She kicked me, sir."  
  
"Is that true?" he asked turning to her.  
  
"He deserved it," she said flatly without even looking at him.  
  
"What is your name?"  
  
"Who are you?" she countered.  
  
"Chief Inspector Greyson. What is your name?"  
  
"Denae Hartman."  
  
"And your age?"  
  
"21."  
  
"Where are you from?"  
  
"Thousand Oaks, California."  
  
"And what are you doing in New London?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"What do you mean you don't know?"  
  
"I mean I don't know. I have absolutely *no* idea how I got here." She sighed. "Look, the last thing I remember is I'm on my way home, there's this weird lightning and thunder. And I'm in the middle of a street in a city I don't know."  
  
"Right," said Greyson sarcastically. "Who are you really?"  
  
"God, I've been over this a thousand times! My name is Denae Hartman, I am 21 years old, I am from Thousand Oaks, California and I don't know how I got to New London. I don't care if you believe me or not. It's the truth."  
  
"All right, we'll come back to it. Your report says you attacked two men on the street."  
  
"I didn't attack them. They attacked me."  
  
"You've been arrested. You must have done something illegal."  
  
"Oh, so it's a crime to defend yourself now? The only reason I've been arrested is because *he* doesn't like Americans." She pointed an accusing finger at the constable, who was still rubbing his shin.  
  
"Nonsense," said Greyson.  
  
"It's true," she said with conviction.  
  
"Is that right?" asked Grayson, turning to the officer.  
  
"Of course not, sir. I would never do something like that."  
  
"Imagine," said Watson. "Accusing a Constable of such a thing!"  
  
"With him, I wouldn't dismiss it so quickly. There have always been rumors about him. There was never any evidence, so no one really paid any attention. There were a few incidents when people he brought in *claimed* some kind of prejudice. For some reason, no one's ever filed charges, so it never really got back to Greyson," explained Lestrade.  
  
Holmes simply watched the woman argue with Greyson. She looked as if she was holding in most of her anger and trying to keep control of it. And it looked as if it were harder to control by the minute.  
  
Greyson didn't look too happy either. Running a hand over his face, he said, "Constable, leave us. And send me some coffee. This could take a while." As soon as they were alone, he turned back to her. "Let's try this again. Your name?"  
  
"Denae Hartman."  
  
"Age?"  
  
"21."  
  
"From?"  
  
"Thousand Oaks, California."  
  
"What are you doing in New London?"  
  
"I...don't...*know*!" she said through gritted teeth.  
  
Greyson looked more frustrated than ever.  
  
A compudroid entered the room. It was holding a steaming mug, which Greyson took immediately.  
  
"Are you through with the background check?"  
  
"Affirmative," answered the droid.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"There is no record of the subject anywhere."  
  
Greyson placed the mug on the table. "That will be all," he said to the droid, who proceeded to walk out the door, which slid shut behind it. He turned back to Denae. "Well, according to the records, you don't exist. Now why don't you try telling me the truth?"  
  
"I have."  
  
"Oh, beastly American," growled Greyson. He turned away in frustration.  
  
Denae's eyes narrowed. That was it. She'd had enough of this 'beastly American' crap.  
  
As Holmes watched, she quickly snatched up the mug, spit in it, and replaced it a split second before Greyson turned around. She acted as if nothing had happened.  
  
Greyson eyed her suspiciously. Still watching her, he picked up the mug and brought it to his lips.  
  
"Ecch!" groaned Lestrade as he drank fro the mug. "That's disgusting!"  
  
Holmes nodded in agreement. "Yes, although I must admit I can't really blame her."  
  
"Can't blame... She spit in his coffee Holmes! Then let him drink it!"  
  
"Are you about to tell me that you've never had the urge to do something similar Lestrade?" When she didn't answer, he continued. "I must say, she is a very...spirited young lady."  
  
Holmes continued to watch the girl through the glass. The corners of his mouth twitched upward a bit as he tried to control the laughter that wanted to break free.  
  
Lestrade eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then turned her attention to the scene unfolding behind the glass as well.  
  
Greyson turned his back to her once more. Denae brought her right hand up to her mouth. She desperately tried to conceal the smile that had emerged on her face. After a few moments, she composed herself. Greyson turned to look at her again. Then he turned and left her alone in the room.  
  
Denae tapped her foot against the floor and sighed. She had known that nothing would turn up on her in the files. How could there be records of someone who didn't exist in this world?  
  
She turned towards the mirror on the wall to her right. Her eyes narrowed. She was surprised that they still had this set-up. She had expected a machine that would measure her emotional stress level, not that it would do the Yardies much good, considering her stress level at the moment. No doubt there was someone behind the mirror. Watching, listening, judging her.  
  
Holmes watched her eye the mirror. He knew she couldn't see them, but she obviously knew they were there. He turned away as Greyson came up to them.  
  
"I might have known you three would be poking your noses in," he said. "What do you think?"  
  
"I think she's frustrated that no one believes her," answered Lestrade.  
  
"Frustrated, maybe, but by no means surprised," commented Holmes.  
  
"Huh? How do you figure that Holmes?"  
  
"Very simple Lestrade. When the good Chief Inspector informed her that there is no record of her at all, she didn't look the least bit surprised. I simply deduced from her reaction, or lack thereof, that she came here knowing that there would be no record on file."  
  
"But, if she knew that we'd know she was lying, why would she do it anyway?" asked a very confused Lestrade.  
  
"I'm not entirely sure she *is* lying," he said, looking thoughtful. "She is rather insistent on her identity. Yet, she claims not to care if anyone believes her or not. From the way she looked and sounded, I'd guess that she is telling the truth. Either that, or she is the best actress I've ever seen. Perhaps she simply believes that she is telling the truth."  
  
"What do you mean 'she believes she is telling the truth'?" demanded Greyson.  
  
"There are documented cases of people who believed that they were one person when, in actuality, they were someone else entirely."  
  
"But her DNA should still have brought up a file. It lists her as 'unknown'."  
  
"Ah, but in this day and age it is not impossible to change one's genetic code. Furthermore, it is not impossible that she is a clone of someone who lived before DNA was required to be on file. Moriarty is living proof of that."  
  
"Quite right. I never even considered that."  
  
"It is my job to consider what others do not, Chief Inspector."  
  
"Oh, well. In the meantime, Lestrade," he said turning to her, "I want you to question her."  
  
"*Me?* Why? What did *I* do?"  
  
"Females tend to be more comfortable with females. Besides, she is annoying me."  
  
"I would approach her gently, Lestrade," suggested Holmes. "As we've seen, she has a tendency to... act out her frustrations."  
  
Denae was drumming her fingers on the table when Lestrade entered. She stopped and turned her head to see who it was.  
  
"What's the matter, I wear out the last two?" she asked.  
  
"Actually, yes, Miss...Hartman was it?"  
  
Denae nodded.  
  
"Alright Miss Hartman, can you tell me why you don't have a holofile?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Okay, um, what's the first thing you remember after arriving in New London?"  
  
"I remember falling. And landing in the street. After that, trying to figure out where I was."  
  
"And the last thing you remember before you arrived?"  
  
"I was going home. I was close to my house. In L.A."  
  
Lestrade gave her a suspicious look. "I thought you said you were from Thousand Oaks."  
  
"I am, but I go to school in L.A. I live there."  
  
"Why did you tell Grayson you were from Thousand Oaks?"  
  
"Hey, he asked me where I was from, not where I live."  
  
Holmes smiled a little through the glass.  
  
"Tricky, aren't you?"  
  
"Very."  
  
Lestrade was a bit surprised at that.  
  
Denae sighed. "Are we done here? Can I go now? Because I didn't do anything wrong."  
  
"They say you beat up two men in the street."  
  
"Hey, I don't know about you, but when someone tries to attack me, I fight back."  
  
"That would be understandable, but according to the constable who arrested you-"  
  
"He's lying," Denae cut in. "He just has it in for me."  
  
"Can you prove that?"  
  
Denae bit her lip as she thought. After a moment, her eyes lit up. "I've heard you keep cameras all the place here. One on every street. Is that true?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, it should be recorded then. I swear to you, Inspector..." she paused to read the badge, "Lestrade, those men attacked me first."  
  
"I'll get right on it. Thank you." She got up and started to leave.  
  
"Oh, and Inspector?"  
  
She turned back to her. "Yes?"  
  
"I'd like my things back, please."  
  
"I'll see what I can do. After we check the surveillance."  
  
Denae looked annoyed, but nodded.  
  
Lestrade made her exit.  
  
Denae glanced again at the mirror. She wondered if those two idiots were behind it. Then she wondered if they would call in anyone special to investigate her.  
  
Casually, she put her feet up on the table, crossing her ankles. She put her hands behind her head and leaned back.  
  
Inspector Beth Lestrade. Now *there* was someone she'd never expected to run into. Of course, she'd never expected to find herself in New London either. She still had no idea how she had come to be here. Or, more importantly, how she was supposed to get home.  
  
"What do you think?" Lestrade asked of Holmes and Watson. "Is she genuine?"  
  
"She appears to be," said Holmes. He was still watching Denae, who was now tapping her foot on the air to an imaginary beat. "I wonder... Greyson mentioned a backpack. Could we examine its contents?"  
  
"Sure. I don't see the harm in that."  
  
Holmes and Watson followed Lestrade. After first stopping to ask one of the techies to bring up the surveillance for the street, she led them to where Denae's belongings were being kept.  
  
As they began to go through the backpack, Lestrade commented, "Books, make-up. Nothing really out of the ordinary."  
  
She then proceeded to dump all the contents out onto a table. The first things they noticed were the personal CD player and a large CD book.  
  
"What the-?" Lestrade picked up the player and examined it. She had never seen one outside of history books or websites. Then she opened the booklet. There were 90 CDs inside.  
  
"CD's?" exclaimed Lestrade in confusion. "They stopped making these over 80 years ago!"  
  
"Oh, my. This is strange. All of these books were printed before the year 2004," said Watson.  
  
"But, they look new."  
  
"Yes, they are in excellent condition."  
  
"Very strange," commented Holmes.  
  
Next, Lestrade opened the smaller compartment on the front of the pack. She pulled out the contents: a CD still wrapped in plastic, some writing utensils, a receipt, a wallet and a cellular phone.  
  
"Curiouser and curiouser," said Watson. "Why on earth would a young girl carry so many rare antiques in her bag?"  
  
Holmes picked up the receipt and thoroughly examined it. "Fascinating! This receipt lists the date she purchased this, uh, CD. It says April 13, 2003. 102 years ago yesterday."  
  
"Hey, look at this." Lestrade pulled a number of green papers out of the wallet. "What are these Watson?" Watson quickly searched his database. "American dollars. They haven't been used since 2025."  
  
"Dollars?" asked Lestrade.  
  
"Yes. It 2025, all nations began to use credits," he explained. "Credits have been used ever since. All other forms of currency were discontinued."  
  
"I suppose these are worth a bundle to any collector, too."  
  
"Indeed. And in such good condition, too."  
  
"Hmm," said Holmes as he examined the dollar bills. There were several ones, two fives, two tens, three twenties, a fifty and even a hundred. $234 in all. "Look at the dates on these. Almost all of them were printed in 2002 or 2003."  
  
"How strange. What do you make of it, Holmes?"  
  
"I haven't come to a conclusion yet, Watson. I simply have a theory. As you know, I never divulge my theories until I have confirmed them. I look forward to learning more. However, the theft of the genetics lab takes priority. Come, Watson. We must pick up the trail."  
  
"Holmes!" called Lestrade as they began to leave. "Don't you want to find out if she's telling the truth? Or at least see if she can explain all of this stuff in her bag?"  
  
"No need Lestrade. You can fill us in later."  
  
Lestrade quickly shoved the contents back into the bag. She hurried to catch up with Holmes and Watson. Just as she caught up, they encountered Greyson leading Denae by the arm. Lestrade stepped to the front of the group. "What's going on Chief?"  
  
"We've confirmed that she was attacked. Now there's just the matter of her DNA scan. Then she's free to go."  
  
"Look, if it's my DNA you're after, just stick a needle in my arm and be done with it. I'd like to get out of here," she informed Greyson .  
  
Denae swerved her head towards the group in front of her. Her brown eyes found Holmes's blue ones. She held his gaze for a moment, then averted her own gaze.  
  
"Um, I don't suppose you can explain the contents of this bag?" asked Lestrade.  
  
"Yeah. That stuff's mine. I didn't steal it, if that's what you're asking, Inspector."  
  
"I'll take that," said Greyson, grabbing a hold of the bag.  
  
"Hey! That's mine!" protested Denae.  
  
He kept it away and peered inside.  
  
"What's a girl your age doing with all this?" he asked suspiciously, just before he handed the bag back to Lestrade.  
  
"None of your business," she said defiantly.  
  
"As long as I have this badge, it is very much my business!"  
  
Anger flashed in her eyes. "Why don't you take your badge, and stick it up your-"  
  
"As far as we know," interrupted Lestrade, " nothing here is stolen. And we have a DNA sample on file now, so there's really no reason to hold her here any longer."  
  
"Alright, fine. It will get her out of my hair anyway." He walked away.  
  
"Here you go," said Lestrade, handing her the bag.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Well, this has been interesting, but we really must be going. Lestrade. Miss," said Holmes, tipping his deerstalker. Watson followed suit, tipping his own hat, before they walked away.  
  
"Inspector, would you be so kind as to direct me to the ladies room so I can clean up a little?"  
  
"There's one down the left hall. It's a few doors down."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
With that, they parted ways.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------  
  
Out on the street, Denae looked around. Her hair was now brushed and she looked a little more presentable. She had no place to go. She knew her money was no good here, and she was getting hungry. Not to mention the entire ordeal had left her tired.  
  
How did I get here? she thought. How am I supposed to get back?  
  
There was one person that she knew of who might be able to figure it out, but she wasn't about to go to him. He was a man of science. She suspected what had happened to her had nothing to do with science.  
  
She picked a random direction and started walking.  
  
After about half an hour, the rumbling in her stomach could not be ignored. She riffled through her bag. She was sure she had something to eat in there. Eventually, she found it. At the bottom of the bag was a bag of pretzels, a 2-pack of cookies and a tin of mints. Granted, the pretzels and cookies were broken and a bit crushed, and the tin had been dented from the fall, but it was food. Well, close enough.  
  
She ate about half of what was in the pretzel bag, just enough to somewhat calm her stomach, then tucked them back in her bag. She didn't know when she would have any credits to buy more food. So what she had was going to have to last. 


	3. Chapter 3

After a fruitless search for clues, Watson was driving their hover-coach back to 221B. Holmes sat in the passenger seat thinking about the case. The clues were very limited, but when had that ever stopped him before?  
  
Not all of the equipent was taken. Why? Most likely because of a lack of time. After all, so much activity at such a late time could only continue for so long without someone becoming suspicious. They would need the rest of the equipment if they wanted a full lab. Another lab would be hit. Probably soon.  
  
He found his thoughts drifting to the second mystery that had crossed his path today. Miss Denae Hartman.  
  
She was quite attractive. Easily one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. And firey, no doubt about that.  
  
When she'd looked at him he'd seen recognition in her eyes. There was no doubt about it. She'd acted almost shy when she saw him. Until she'd become angry, that is. She acted as if she were two entirely different people. One when she was calm, and another when she was angry.  
  
She had very beautiful eyes.  
  
Holmes immeadiatly shook himself from his thoughts and frowned. Where had that thought come from? Other than the way she was dressed, her outward appearance had very little to do with the air of mystery that clung to her.  
  
Still, he had noticed that she wore no make-up. And she was clearly of Asian blood. The shape of her eyes told him that, though the rest of her features looked American.  
  
They arrived at 221B. They climbed out of the hover-coach, entered the building and ascended the 17 steps to the door of their flat. As soon as they entered, Holmes removed his hat and coat and hung them on the coat tree next to the door. Watson removed his coat as well.  
  
Holmes proceded to his favorite chair in the sitting room. He sat down. His elbows rested on the arm rests. His fingertips touched just below his face.  
  
"What are you thinking Holmes?" asked Watson.  
  
"That there will be another theft of a genetics lab."  
  
"How did you deduce that?"  
  
"Think Watson. It was a small lab, with only the most basic of equipment. And not all of it was taken. More than likely, the rest of the equipment will be needed. Isuggest you contact the Yard and inform the that an alert should be in effect for any lab or warehouse that may contain such equipment."  
  
"Right away Holmes."  
  
As soon as Watson walked away, Holmes let his thoughts drift again. He began to lay out the facts as he knew them, as well as the unanswered questions.  
  
Why would a girl of 21 be carrying so many things that were no longer being made? Things that hadn't been made in almost a century. And the fact that everything in her bag was dated before 2004, well, there weren't a lot of explainations for that.  
  
She said the first thing she recalled of New London was falling onto a street. And thunder and lightning. That would mean her first memories of New London must have happened last night at around 11:00PM.  
  
She had recognized him when they'd come face to face. That meant she either knew who he was, or had simply recognized him from this morning. She'd also seemed extremely uncomfortable.  
  
When she'd met Lesrade there had also been a flicker of recognition in her eyes. She'd been more or less civil to Lestrade, while acting rude and shrewish to the constable and Greyson.  
  
She'd been arrested for assulting two men in the street, though it had been self defense. She was fairly small, yet she'd apparently beaten two grown men on her own. Not something one commonly sees. Either she had been extremely lucky, or, more likely, she'd had some sort of training to be able to do so.  
  
He had also noticed the way she stared at the computers and machinery in awe. It was if she'd never seen anything like it. In fact, almost everything in New Scotland Yard, and indeed the entire city judging by the way she looked out the window, seemed strange and new to her.  
  
Frankly, she reminded him of his own reaction to New London when he'd first been brought back.  
  
How she aroused his curiosity.  
  
But, for now, she would have to wait. He had a job to do.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------  
  
The next day, Lestrade called Holmes. "Another Lab has been hit. This time they took some more advanced equipment. The guards were ionized and another droid is missing."  
  
"Weren't the labs warned about the robbery?"  
  
"Yes. This lab hired a few extra guards for the next couple of weeks. Every last guard on duty was ionized. Thankfully, no one was seriously hurt."  
  
"Where is this lab?"  
  
"The Loralie Genetics Lab. It's on 15th Avenue."  
  
"I shall be there soon."  
  
The screen went blank.  
  
"Watson," he called. "Advanced equipment," he mussed.  
  
"Yes, Holmes?" asked Watson, entering from another room.  
  
"We shall be departing for Loralie Genetics shortly. Have You finished with my coat?"  
  
"It will only take a few more minutes. I haven't pressed it yet."  
  
"Thank you Watson."  
  
As Watson returned to his task, Holmes returned to looking out the window. There weren't too many people living in this part of the city. This was mainly due to the fact that most of the buildings were old fashioned. They were too 'inconvenient' for most modern people. However, many people passed through this part of town during the course of the day, but usually not this early. So when he saw a lone figure walking down the street, Holmes zeroed in on her.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Somehow, late last night, Denae had found her way back to Baker Street. She didn't know how or why. But, once she'd realized where she was, a strange calm had settled over her. Just knowing that Sherlock Holmes was nearby had made her feel safer somehow.  
  
She had slept in an alley less than a block down from 221B. It had not been, by any means, a comfortable night. It had been cold and damp. Not to mention the worry that someone she wouldn't particularly like to meet would show up. Although, knowing that this part of town was practically empty had been some consolation.  
  
Now, she just hoped to get past Holmes's flat without him or Watson seeing her. She knew that, as a rule, Holmes was a late riser. Of course, with her current run of luck, today would be an exeption, as it had seemed to be yesterday. She wasn't completely sure since her watch was still not working. She had long ago discarded it into her bag. Still, the sun wasn't high in the sky yet. It seemed like early morning. Unless Holmes had a case he was working on, she should be okay.  
  
As she passed his flat, she slowed. She glanced hesitantly at the door. He might be the only one who could , or would, help her. Or, he might just think she was insane. So she continued on her way, not daring to look up at the window for fear he might be standing there, watching her.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Holmes frowned as he watched Denae pass. He noticed the way she hesitated as she passed. He noted the way she carefully avoided looking directly at the windows. She had a problem, but was afraid to ask for help.  
  
He watched her continue walking. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so intrigued by a female, for any reason. As far as he was concerned, she was an entire mystery unto herself. And solving mysteries was his job.  
  
There was no doubt in his mind now that she knew exactly who he was. And the fact that she had glanced at his door led him to believe that she was thinking about consulting him on whatever her problem was. But something had stopped her. Judging by the look on her face, it was fear. 'But fear of what?' he wondered.  
  
"All is ready," announced Watson, entering the room. He carried Holmes's coat over one arm.  
  
"Ah, thank you Watson. Now, come. The game is afoot. The Loralie Lab awaits us."  
  
As he spoke, he crossed to the entrance, pausing only to reach for his deerstalker and open the door. Then they were on their way. 


End file.
